"HELL     PER    SARTAIN" 


AND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY 

JOHN  FOX,  JR. 

AUTHOR  OF 
'A  CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA"  ETC. 


NEW     YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

1897 


BY   JOHN    FOX,  JR. 


A  CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA,  and  Other  Sto 
ries.  Illustrated.   Post  8vo,Cloth,Ornamental,$l  25. 

Genuinely  picturesque  and  bristling  with  pointed  in 
cidents,  these  stories  may  be  relied  upon  for  something 
worth  reading  on  every  page.  They  are  good,  strong, 
romantic  sketches  of  American  life  in  nooks  and  corners. 
—Independent,  N.  Y.  

PUBHSijEUBY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


Copyright,  1897,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  rtstrved. 


TO 
MY   BROTHER 

JAMES 


M105434 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

These  stories  were  originally  published  in  Harper's 
Weekly,  The  Century,  Southern  Magazine,  and  The 
Graphic,  London. 

"Hell  fer  Sartain,"  included  in  "A  Cumberland 
Vendetta,  and  Other  Stories,"  is  reprinted  here, 
because  it  is  one  of  the  series  of  similar  monologues 
contained  in  this  volume. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ON  HELL-FER-SARTAIN  CREEK  ....  I 

THROUGH  THE  GAP 9 

A  TRICK  O5  TRADE 19 

GRAYSON'S  BABY 27 

COURTIN'  ON  CUTSHIN 41 

THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  SAND     ....  53 

THE  SENATOR'S  LAST  TRADE    .    ,     .     .  61 

PREACHIN'  ON  KINGDOM-COME  ....  71 

THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM  SHIVERS  .     .  8l 

A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON  89 


ON   HELL-FER-SARTAIN   CREEK 


ON   HELL-FER-SARTAIN   CREEK 


THAR  was  a  dancin'-party  Christmas 
night  on  "Hell  fer  Sartain."  Jes  tu'n 
up  the  fust  crick  beyond  the  bend  thar, 
an'  climb  onto  a  stump,  an'  holler  about 
once,  an'  you'll  see  how  the  name  come. 
Stranger,  hit's  hell  fer  sartain !  Well, 
Rich  Harp  was  thar  from  the  head 
waters,  an'  Harve  Hall  toted  Nance 
Osborn  clean  across  the  Cumberlan'. 
Fust  one  ud  swing  Nance,  an'  then 
t'other.  Then  they'd  take  a  pull  out'n 
the  same  bottle  o'  moonshine,  an' — fust 
one  an'  then  t'other — they'd  swing  her 
3 


,ON   HELL-FER-SARTAIN  CREEK 

agin.  ,',An,'  Abe  Shivers  a-settin'  thar 
by-tlie'  fiv.e 'a-bi tin*  his  thumbs! 

Well,  things  was  sorter  whoopin', 
when  somebody  ups  an'  tells  Harve 
that  Rich  had  said  somep'n'  agin 
Nance  an'  him,  an'  somebody  ups  an' 
tells  Rich  that  Harve  had  said  somep'n' 
agin  Nance  an'  him.  In  a  minute,  stran 
ger,  hit  was  like  two  wild-cats  in  thar. 
Folks  got  'em  parted,  though,  but  thar 
was  no  more  a-swingin'  of  Nance  that 
night.  Harve  toted  her  back  over  the 
Cumberlan',  an'  Rich's  kinsfolks  tuk  him 
up  "  Hell  fer  Sartain ";  but  Rich  got 
loose,  an'  lit  out  lickety-split  fer  Nance 
Osborn's.  He  knowed  Harve  lived  too 
fer  over  Black  Mountain  to  go  home 
that  night,  an'  he  rid  right  across  the 
river  an'  up  to  Nance's  house,  an'  hol 
lered  fer  Harve.  Harve  poked  his  head 


ON   HELL-FER-SARTAIN   CREEK 

out'n  the  loft  —  lie  knowed  whut  was 
wanted — an'  Harve  says,  "  Uh,  come  in 
hyeh  an'  go  to  bed.  Hit's  too  late  !" 
An'  Rich  seed  him  a-gapin'  like  a  chick 
en,  an'  in  he  walked,  stumblin'  might' 
nigh  agin  the  bed  whar  Nance  was 
a-layin',  listenin'  an'  not  sayin'  a  word. 

Stranger,  them  two  fellers  slept  to 
gether  plum  frien'ly,  an'  they  et  together 
plum  frien'ly  next  mornin',an'  they  sa'n- 
tered  down  to  the  grocery  plum  frien' 
ly.  An'  Rich  says,  "  Harve,"  says  he, 
"  let's  have  a  drink."  "  All  right,  Rich," 
says  Harve.  An'  Rich  says,  "  Harve," 
says  he,  "  you  go  out'n  that  door  an' 
I'll  go  out'n  this  door."  "All  right, 
Rich,"  says  Harve,  an*  out  they 
walked,  steady,  an'  thar  was  two  shoots 
shot,  an'  Rich  an'  Harve  both  drapped, 
an'  in  ten  minutes  they  was  stretched 

5 


ON   HELL-FER-SARTAIN   CREEK 

out    on    Nance's    bed    an'   Nance   was 
a-lopin'  away  fer  the  yarb  doctor. 

The  gal  nussed  'em  both  plum  faith 
ful.  Rich  didn't  hev  much  to  say,  an' 
Harve  didn't  hev  much  to  say.  Nance 
was  sorter  quiet,  an'  Nance's  mammy, 
ole  Nance,  jes  grinned.  Folks  come  in 
to  ax  atter  'em  right  peart.  Abe  Shivers 
come  cl'ar  'cross  the  river — powerful 
frien'ly — an'  ever'  time  Nance  ud  walk 
out  to  the  fence  with  him.  One  time 
she  didn't  come  back,  an'  ole  Nance 
fetched  the  boys  thar  dinner,  an'  ole 
Nance  fotched  thar  supper,  an'  then 
Rich  he  axed  whut  was  the  matter 
with  young  Nance.  An'  ole  .Nance  jes 
snorted.  Atter  a  while  Rich  says: 
"  Harve,"  says  he,  "  who  tol'  you  that 
I  said  that  word  agin  you  an'  Nance  ?" 
"  Abe  Shivers,"  says  Harve.  "  An'  who 
6 


ON   HELL-FER-SARTAIN   CREEK 

tol'  you,"  says  Harve,  "  that  I  said  that 
word  agin  Nance  an*  you  ?"  "  Abe  Shiv 
ers,"  says  Rich.  An'  both  says,  "  Well, 
damn  me !"  An'  Rich  tu'ned  right 
over  an'  begun  pullin'  straws  out'n  the 
bed.  He  got  two  out,  an'  he  bit  one 
off,  an'  he  says :  "  Harve,"  says  he,  "  I 
reckon  we  better  draw  fer  him.  The 
shortes'  gits  him."  An'  they  drawed. 
Well,  nobody  ever  knowed  which  got 
the  shortes'  straw,  stranger,  but — 

Thar'll  be  a  dancin'- party  comin' 
Christmas  night  on  "  Hell  fer  Sartain." 
Rich  Harp  '11  be  thar  from  the  head 
waters.  Harve  Hall's  a-goin'  to  tote 
the  Widder  Shivers  clean  across  the 
Cumberlan'.  Fust  one  '11  swing  Nance, 
an'  then  t'other.  Then  they'll  take  a 
pull  out'n  the  same  bottle  o'  moon 
shine,  an' — fust  one  an*  then  t'other — 

7 


ON   HELL-FER-SARTAIN   CREEK 

they'll  swing  her   agin,  jes   the   same. 
Abe  won't  be  thar.     He's  a-settin'  by 
a  bigger  fire,  I  reckon  (ef  he  ain't  in 
it),  a-bitin'  his  thumbs ! 
8 


THROUGH    THE   GAP 


THROUGH  THE  GAP 


WHEN  thistles  go  adrift,  the  sun  sets 
down  the  valley  between  the  hills ; 
when  snow  comes,  it  goes  down  behind 
the  Cumberland  and  streams  through  a 
great  fissure  that  people  call  the  Gap. 
Then  the  last  light  drenches  the  par 
son's  cottage  under  Imboden  Hill,  and 
leaves  an  after-glow  of  glory  on  a  ma 
jestic  heap  that  lies  against  the  east. 
Sometimes  it  spans  the  Gap  with  a 
rainbow. 

Strange  people  and  strange  tales 
come  through  this  Gap  from  the  Ken- 
ii 


THROUGH  THE  GAP 

tucky  hills.  Through  it  came  these 
two,  late  one  day — a  man  and  a  wom 
an  —  afoot.  I  met  them  at  the  foot 
bridge  over  Roaring  Fork. 

"  Is  thar  a  preacher  anywhar  aroun' 
hyeh?"  he  asked.  I  pointed  to  .the 
cottage  under  Imboden  Hill.  The  girl 
flushed  slightly  and  turned  her  head 
away  with  a  rather  unhappy  smile. 
Without  a  word,  the  mountaineer  led 
the  way  towards  town.  A  moment 
more  and  a  half-breed  Malungian  pass 
ed  me  on  the  bridge  and  followed 
them. 

At  dusk  the  next  day  I  saw  the 
mountaineer  chopping  wood  at  a  shan 
ty  under  a  clump  of  rhododendron  on 
the  river-bank.  The  girl  was  cooking 
supper  inside.  The  day  following  he 
was  at  work  on  the  railroad,  and  on 

12 


THROUGH  THE  GAP 

Sunday,  after  church,  I  saw  the  parson. 
The  two  had  not  been  to  him.  Only 
that  afternoon  the  mountaineer  was 
on  the  bridge  with  another  woman,  hid 
eously  rouged  and  with  scarlet  ribbons 
fluttering  from  her  bonnet.  Passing 
on  by  the  shanty,  I  saw  the  Malungian 
talking  to  the  girl.  She  apparently 
paid  no  heed  to  him  until,  just  as  he 
was  moving  away,  he  said  something 
mockingly,  and  with  a  nod  of  his 
head  back  towards  the  bridge.  She 
did  not  look  up  even  then,  but  her 
face  got  hard  and  white,  and,  looking 
back  from  the  road,  I  saw  her  slipping 
through  the  bushes  into  the  dry  bed  of 
the  creek,  to  make  sure  that  what  the 
half-breed  told  her  was  true. 

The  two  men  were  working  side  by 
side  on  the  railroad  when  I  saw  them 
13 


THROUGH  THE  GAP 

again,  but  on  the  first  pay-day  the  doc 
tor  was  called  to  attend  the  Malun- 
gian,  whose  head  was  split  open  with 
a  shovel.  I  was  one  of  two  who  went 
out  to  arrest  his  assailant,  and  I  had 
no  need  to  ask  who  he  was.  The 
mountaineer  was  a  devil,  the  foreman 
said,  and  I  had  to  club  him  with  a 
pistol -butt  before  he  would  give  in. 
He  said  he  would  get  even  with  me  ; 
but  they  all  say  that,  and  I  paid  no 
attention  to  the  threat.  For  a  week  he 
was  kept  in  the  calaboose,  and  when  I 
passed  the  shanty  just  after  he  was 
sent  to  the  county -seat  for  trial,  I 
found  it  empty.  The  Malungian,  too, 
was  gone.  Within  a  fortnight  the 
mountaineer  was  in  the  door  of  the 
shanty  again.  Having  no  accuser,  he 
had  been  discharged.  He  went  back 
14 


THROUGH  THE  GAP 

to  his  work,  and  if  he  opened  his  lips 
I  never  knew.  Every  day  I  saw  him 
at  work,  and  he  never  failed  to  give 
me  a  surly  look.  Every  dusk  I  saw 
him  in  his  door -way,  waiting,  and  I 
could  guess  for  what.  It  was  easy  to 
believe  that  the  stern  purpose  in  his 
face  would  make  its  way  through 
space  and  draw  her  to  him  again. 
And  she  did  come  back  one  day.  I 
had  just  limped  down  the  mountain 
with  a  sprained  ankle.  A  crowd  of 
women  was  gathered  at  the  edge  of 
the  woods,  looking  with  all  their  eyes 
to  the  shanty  on  the  river-bank.  The 
girl  stood  in  the  door-way.  The  moun 
taineer  was  coming  back  from  work 
with  his  face  down. 

"  He   hain't  seed  her  yit,"  said  one. 
"  He's  goin'  to  kill  her  shore.     I  tol' 
15 


THROUGH   THE  GAP 

her  he  would.     She  said  she  reckoned 
he  would,  but  she  didn't  keer." 

For  a  moment  I  was  paralyzed  by 
the  tragedy  at  hand.  She  was  in  the 
door  looking  at  him  when  he  raised 
his  head.  For  one  moment  he  stood 
still,  staring,  and  then  he  started  tow 
ards  her  with  a  quickened  step.  I 
started  too,  then,  every  step  a  torture, 
and  as  I  limped  ahead  she  made  a 
gesture  of  terror  and  backed  into  the 
room  before  him.  The  door  closed, 
and  I  listened  for  a  pistol-shot  and  a 
scream.  It  must  have  been  done  with 
a  knife,  I  thought,  and  quietly,  for 
when  I  was  within  ten  paces  of  the 
cabin  he  opened  the  door  again.  His 
face  was  very  white  ;  he  held  one  hand 
behind  him,  and  he  was  nervously 
fumbling  at  his  chin  with  the  other. 
16 


THROUGH   THE  GAP 

As  he  stepped  towards  me  I  caught  the 
handle  of  a  pistol  in  my  side  pocket 
and  waited.  He  looked  at  me  sharply. 

"  Did  you  say  the  preacher  lived  up 
thar?"  he  asked. 

''Yes,"  I  said,  breathlessly. 

In  the  door-way  just  then  stood  the 
girl  with  a  bonnet  in  her  hand,  and  at 
a  nod  from  him  they  started  up  the 
hill  towards  the  cottage.  They  came 
down  again  after  a  while,  he  stalking 
ahead,  and  she,  after  the  mountain 
fashion,  behind.  And  after  this  fashion 
I  saw  them  at  sunset  next  day  pass 
over  the  bridge  and  into  the  mouth  of 
the  Gap  whence  they  came.  Through 
this  Gap  come  strange  people  and 
strange  tales  from  the  Kentucky  hills. 
Over  it,  sometimes,  is  the  span  of  a 
rainbow. 

B  17 


A  TRICK   O'  TRADE 


A   TRICK    O'  TRADE 


STRANGER,  I'm  a  separate  man,  an'  I 
don't  inguisite  into  no  man's  business ; 
but  you  ax  me  straight,  an'  I  tell  ye 
straight :  You  watch  ole  Tom  ! 

Now,  I'll  take  ole  Tom  Perkins'  word 
agin  anybody's  'ceptin'  when  hit  comes 
to  a  hoss  trade  ur  a  piece  6'  land.  Fer 
in  the  tricks  o'  sech,  ole  Tom  'lows — 
well,  hit's  diff'ent;  an'  I  reckon,  stranger, 
as  how  hit  sorter  is.  He  was  a-stayin' 
at  Tom's  house,  the  furriner  was,  a-dick- 
erin'  fer  a  piece  o'  Ian'  —  the  same 
piece,  mebbe,  that  you're  atter  now — 

21 


A  TRICK   O'  TRADE 

an'  Tom  keeps  him  thar  fer  a  week  to 
beat  him  out'n  a  dollar,  an'  then  won't 
let  him  pay  nary  a  cent  fer  his  boa'd. 
Now,  stranger,  that's  Tom. 

Well,  Abe  Shivers  was  a-workin'  fer 
Tom — you've  heerd  tell  o' Abe  —  an* 
the  furriner  wasn't  more'n  half  gone 
afore  Tom  seed  that  Abe  was  up  to 
some  of  his  dcvilmint.  Abe  kin  hatch 
up  more  devibmnt  in  a  minit  than  Satan 
hisself  kin  in  a  week ;  so  Tom  jes  got 
Abe  out'n  the  stable  under  a  hoe-handle, 
an'  tol'  him  to  tell  the  whole  thing 
straight  ur  he'd  have  to  go  to  glory 
right  thar.  An'  Abe  tol' ! 

'Pears  like  Abe  had  foun'  a  streak  o* 
iron  ore  on  the  Ian',  an'  had  racked  his 
jinny  right  down  to  Hazlan  an'  tol'  the 
furriner,  who  was  thar  a -buy  in'  wild 
lands  right  an'  left.  Co'se,  Abe  was 

22 


A  TRICK  O'  TRADE 

goin'  to  make  the  furriner  whack  up 
fer  gittin'  the  Ian'  so  cheap.  Well, 
brother,  the  furriner  come  up  to  Tom's 
an'  got  Tom  into  one  o'  them  new 
fangled  trades  whut  the  furriners  calls  a 
option — t'other  feller  kin  git  out'n  hit, 
but  you  can't.  The  furriner  'lowed  he'd 
send  his  podner  up  thar  next  day  to 
put  the  thing  in  writin'  an'  close  up  the 
trade.  Hit  looked  like  ole  Tom  was 
ketched  fer  shore,  an*  ef  Tom  didn't 
ra'r,  I'd  tell  a  man.  He  jes  let  that  hoe- 
handle  drap  on  Abe  fer  'bout  haffen 
hour,  jes  to  give  him  time  to  study,  an' 
next  day  thar  was  ole  Tom  a-settin' 
on  his  orchard  fence  a-lookin'  mighty 
unknowing  when  the  furriner's  podner 
come  a-prancin'  up  an'  axed  ef  old  Tom 
Perkins  lived  thar. 
Ole  Tom  jes  whispers. 
23 


A  TRICK   O'  TRADE 

Now,  I  clean  fergot  to  tell  ye,  stranger, 
that  Abe  Shivers  nuver  could  talk  out 
loud.  He  toF  so  many  lies  that  the 
Lawd — jes  to  make  things  even — sorter 
fixed  Abe,  I  reckon,  so  he  couldn't  lie 
on  'more'n  one  side  o'  the  river  at  a 
time.  Ole  Tom  jes  knovved  t'other 
furriner  had  tol'  this  un  'bout  Abe,  an,' 
shore  'nough,  the  feller  says,  sorter  soft, 
says  he : 

"  Aw,  you  air  the  feller  whut  foun' 
the  ore?" 

Ole  Tom  —  makin'  like  he  was  Abe, 
mind  ye — jes  whispers :  "  Thar  hain't 
none  thar." 

Stranger,  the  feller  mos'  fell  off'n  his 
hoss.  "  Whut  ?"  says  he.  Ole  Tom  kep' 
a-whisperin' :  "  Thar  hain't  no  coal — 
no  nothing ;  ole  Tom  Perkins  made  me 
tell  t'other  furriner  them  lies." 
24 


A  TRICK    O'  TRADE 

Well,  sir,  the  feller  was  mad.  "  Jes 
whut  I  tol'  that  fool  podner  of  mine," 
he  says,  an'  he  pull  out  a  dollar  an'  gives 
hit  to  Tom.  Tom  jes  sticks  out  his 
han'  with  his  thum'  turned  in  jes  so, 
an'  the  furriner  says,  "  Well,  ef  you  can't 
talk,  you  kin  make  purty  damn  good 
signs";  but  he  forks  over  four  mo'  dollars 
(he  'lowed  ole  Tom  had  saved  him  a 
pile  o'  money),  an'  turns  his  hoss  an' 
pulls  up  agin.  He  was  a-gittin'  the  land 
so  durned  cheap  that  I  reckon  he  jes 
hated  to  let  hit  go,  an'  he  says,  says  he : 
"Well,  hain't  the  groun'rich?  Won't  hit 
raise  no  tabaccy  nur  corn  nur  nothin'  ?" 

Ole  Tom  jes  whispers  : 

"  To  tell  you  the  p'int-blank  truth, 
stranger,  that  land's  so  durned  pore  that 
I  hain't  nuver  been  able  to  raise  my 
voice." 

25 


A   TRICK   O'  TRADE 

Now,  brother,  I'm  a  separate  man, 
an'  I  don't  in£/«>ite  into  no  man's  busi 
ness — but  you  ax  me  straight  an'  I  tell 
ye  straight.  Ole  Tom  Perkins  kin  trade 
with  furriners,  fer  he  have  1'arned  their 
ways.  You  watch  ole  Tom  ! 
26 


GRAYSON'S    BABY 


GRAYSON'S   BABY 


THE  first  snow  sifted  in  through  the 
Gap  that  night,  and  in  a  "  shack  "  of 
one  room  and  a  low  loft  a  man  was 
dead,  a  woman  was  sick  to  death,  and 
four  children  were  barely  alive;  and 
nobody  even  knew.  For  they  were  hill 
people,  who  sicken,  suffer,  and  some 
times  die,  like  animals,  and  make  no 
noise. 

Grayson,  the  Virginian,  coming  down 

from  the  woods  that  morning,  saw  the 

big-hearted  little  doctor  outside  the  door 

of   the   shack,  walking   up   and    down, 

29 


GRAYSON'S  BABY 

with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  was 
whistling  softly  when  Grayson  got  near, 
and,  without  stopping,  pointed  with  his 
thumb  within.  The  oldest  boy  sat 
stolidly  on  the  one  chair  in  the  room, 
his  little  brother  was  on  the  floor  hard 
by,  and  both  were  hugging  a  greasy 
stove.  The  little  girl  was  with  her 
mother  in  the  bed,  both  almost  out  of 
sight  under  a  heap  of  quilts.  The  baby 
was  in  a  cradle,  with  its  face  uncovered, 
whether  dead  or  asleep  Grayson  could 
not  tell.  A  pine  coffin  was  behind  the 
door.  It  would  not  have  been  possible 
to  add  to  the  disorder  of  the  room,  and 
the  atmosphere  made  Grayson  gasp.  He 
came  out  looking  white.  The  first  man 
to  arrive  thereafter  took  away  the  eldest 
boy,  a  woman  picked  the  baby  girl  from 
the  bed,  and  a  childless  young  couple 
30 


GRAYSON'S   BABY 

took  up  the  pallid  little  fellow  on  the 
floor.  These  were  step-children.  The 
baby  boy  that  was  left  was  the  woman's 
own.  Nobody  came  for  that,  and  Gray- 
son  went  in  again  and  looked  at  it  a 
long  while.  So  little,  so  old  a  human 
face  he  had  never  seen.  The  brow 
was  wrinkled  as  with  centuries  of  pain, 
and  the  little  drawn  mouth  looked  as 
though  the  spirit  within  had  fought 
its  inheritance  without  a  murmur,  and 
would  fight  on  that  way  to  the  end.  It 
was  the  pluck  of  the  face  that  drew 
Grayson.  "Til  take  it,"  he  said.  The  doc 
tor  was  not  without  his  sense  of  humor 
even  then,  but  he  nodded.  "  Cradle  and 
all,"  he  said,  gravely.  And  Grayson  put 
both  on  one  shoulder  and  walked  away. 
He  had  lost  the  power  of  giving  further 
surprise  in  that  town,  and  had  he  met 
31 


GRAYSON'S   BABY 

every  man  he  knew,  not  one  of  them 
would  have  felt  at  liberty  to  ask  him 
what  he  was  doing.     An  hour  later  the 
doctor    found   the    child    in    Grayson's 
room,  and  Grayson  still  looking  at  it. 
"  Is  it  going  to  live,  doctor  ?" 
The  doctor  shook  his  head.    "  Doubt 
ful.     Look  at  the  color.     It's  starved. 
There's  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  it 
and  feed  it.    You  can  do  that." 

So  Grayson  watched  it,  with  a  fas 
cination  of  which  he  was  hardly  con 
scious.  Never  for  one  instant  did  its 
look  change — the  quiet,  unyielding  en 
durance  that  no  faith  and  no  philosophy 
could  ever  bring  to  him.  It  was  ideal 
courage,  that  look,  to  accept  the  inevit 
able  but  to  fight  it  just  that  way.  Half 
the  little  mountain  town  was  talking 
next  day — that  such  a  tragedy  was  pos- 
32 


GRAYSON'S  BABY 

sible  by  the  public  road-side,  with  relief 
within  sound  of  the  baby's  cry.  The 
oldest  boy  was  least  starved.  Might 
made  right  in  an  extremity  like  his,  and 
the  boy  had  taken  care  of  himself.  The 
young  couple  who  had  the  second  lad 
in  charge  said  they  had  been  wakened 
at  daylight  the  next  morning  by  some 
noise  in  the  room.  Looking  up,  they 
saw  the  little  fellow  at  the  fireplace 
breaking  an  egg.  He  had  built  a  fire, 
had  got  eggs  from  the  kitchen,  and  was 
cooking  his  breakfast.  The  little  girl 
was  mischievous  and  cheery  in  spite  of 
her  bad  plight,  and  nobody  knew  of  the 
baby  except  Grayson  and  the  doctor. 
Grayson  would  let  nobody  else  in.  As 
soon  as  it  was  well  enough  to  be  peevish 
and  to  cry,  he  took  it  back  to  its  mother, 
who  was  still  abed.  A  long,  dark  moun- 
c  33 


GRAYSON'S  BABY 

taineer  was  there,  of  whom  the  woman 
seemed  half  afraid.  He  followed  Gray- 
son  outside. 

"  Say,  podner,"  he  said,  with  an  un 
pleasant  smile,  "ye  don't  go  up  to 
Cracker's  Neck  fer  nothing  do  ye  ?" 

The  woman  had  lived  at  Cracker's 
Neck  before  she  appeared  at  the  Gap, 
and  it  did  not  come  to  Grayson  what 
the  man  meant  until  he  was  half-way  to 
his  room.  Then  he  flushed  hot  and 
wheeled  back  to  the  cabin,  but  the 
mountaineer  was  gone. 

"  Tell  that  fellow  he  had  better  keep 
out  of  my  way,"  he  said  to  the  wom 
an,  who  understood,  and  wanted  to  say 
something,  but  not  knowing  how,  nodded 
simply.  In  a  few  days  the  other  chil 
dren  went  back  to  the  cabin,  and  day 
and  night  Grayson  went  to  see  the  child, 

34 


GRAYSON'S  BABY 

until  it  was  out  of  danger,  and  after 
wards.  It  was  not  long  before  the  women 
in  town  complained  that  the  mother  was 
ungrateful.  When  they  sent  things  to 
eat  to  her  the  servant  brought  back 
word  that  she  had  called  out,  "  *  Set 
them  over  thar,'  without  so  much  as  a 
thanky."  One  message  was  that  "  she 
didn'  want  no  second-hand  victuals  from 
nobody's  table."  Somebody  suggested 
sending  the  family  to  the  poor-house. 
The  mother  said  "  she'd  go  out  on  her 
crutches  and  hoe  corn  fust,  and  that  the 
people  who  talked  'bout  sendin'  her  to 
the  po'-house  had  better  save  their  breath 
to  make  prayers  with."  One  day  she 
was  hired  to  do  some  washing.  The 
mistress  of  the  house  happened  not  to 
rise  until  ten  o'clock.  Next  morning 
the  mountain  woman  did  not  appear 

35 


GRAYSON'S  BABY 

until  that  hour.  "  She  wasn't  goin'  to 
work  a  lick  while  that  woman  was 
a-layin'  in  bed,"  she  said,  frankly.  And 
when  the  lady  went  down  town,  she  too 
disappeared.  Nor  would  she,  she  ex 
plained  to  Grayson,  "  while  that  woman 
was  a-struttin'  the  streets." 

After  that,  one  by  one,  they  let  her 
alone,  and  the  woman  made  not  a  word 
of  complaint.  Within  a  week  she  was 
working  in  the  fields,  when  she  should 
have  been  back  in  bed.  The  result 
was  that  the  child  sickened  again. 
The  old  look  came  back  to  its  face, 
and  Grayson  was  there  night  and  day. 
He  was  having  trouble  out  in  Ken 
tucky  about  this  time,  and  he  went 
to  the  Blue  Grass  pretty  often.  Al 
ways,  however,  he  left  money  with 
me  to  see  that  the  child  was  properly 
36 


GRAYSON'S    BABY 

buried  if  it  should  die  while  he  was 
gone;  and  once  he  telegraphed  to  ask 
how  it  was.  He  said  he  was  some 
times  afraid  to  open  my  letters  for 
fear  that  he  should  read  that  the  baby 
was  dead.  The  child  knew  Grayson's 
voice,  his  step.  It  would  go  to  him 
from  its  own  mother.  When  it  was 
sickest  and  lying  torpid  it  would  move 
the  instant  he  stepped  into  the  room, 
and,  when  he  spoke,  would  hold  out 
its  thin  arms,  without  opening  its  eyes, 
and  for  hours  Grayson  would  walk  the 
floor  with  the  troubled  little  baby  over 
his  shoulder.  I  thought  several  times 
it  would  die  when,  on  one  trip,  Gray- 
son  was  away  for  two  weeks.  One 
midnight,  indeed,  I  found  the  mother 
moaning,  and  three  female  harpies 
about  the  cradle.  The  baby  was  dy- 

37 


GRAYSON'S   BABY 

ing  this  time,  and  I  ran  back  for  a 
flask  of  whiskey.  Ten  minutes  late 
with  the  whiskey  that  night  would 
have  been  too  late.  The  baby  got  to 
know  me  and  my  voice  during  that 
fortnight,  but  it  was  still  in  danger 
when  Grayson  got  back,  and  we  went 
to  see  it  together.  It  was  very  weak, 
and  we  both  leaned  over  the  cradle, 
from  either  side,  and  I  saw  the  pity 
and  affection — yes,  hungry,  half-shamed 
affection  —  in  Grayson's  face.  The 
child  opened  its  eyes,  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  and  held  out  its 
arms  to  me.  Grayson  should  have 
known  that  the  child  forgot — that  it 
would  forget  its  own  mother.  He 
turned  sharply,  and  his  face  was  a 
little  pale.  He  gave  something  to  the 
woman,  and  not  till  then  did  I  notice 
33 


GRAYSON'S   BABY 

that  her  soft  black  eyes  never  left 
him  while  he  was  in  the  cabin.  The 
child  got  well ;  but  Grayson  never 
went  to  the  shack  again,  and  he  said 
nothing  when  I  came  in  one  night 
and  told  him  that  some  mountaineer 
— a  long,  dark  fellow — had  taken  the 
woman,  the  children,  and  the  house 
hold  gods  of  the  shack  back  into  the 
mountains. 

"They  don't  grieve  long,"  I  said, 
"  these  people." 

But  long  afterwards  I  saw  the  wom 
an  again  along  the  dusty  road  that 
leads  into  the  Gap.  She  had  heard 
over  in  the  mountains  that  Grayson 
was  dead,  and  had  walked  for  two 
days  to  learn  if  it  was  true.  I  pointed 
back  towards  Bee  Rock,  and  told  her 
that  he  had  fallen  from  a  cliff  back 

39 


GRAYSON'S   BABY 

there.  She  did  not  move,  nor  did  her 
look  change.  Moreover,  she  said  noth 
ing,  and,  being  in  a  hurry,  I  had  to  ride 
on. 

At  the  foot-bridge  over  Roaring 
Fork  I  looked  back.  The  woman  was 
still  there,  under  the  hot  mid-day  sun 
and  in  the  dust  of  the  road,  motionless. 


COURTIN'   ON    CUTSHIN 


COURTIN'   ON    CUTSHIN 


HIT  was  this  way,  stranger.  When 
hit  comes  to  handlin'  a  right  peert  gal, 
Jeb  Somers  air  about  the  porest  man 
on  Fryin'  Pan,  I  reckon  ;  an'  Polly  Ann 
Sturgill  have  got  the  vineg'rest  tongue 
on  Cutshin  or  any  other  crick. 

So  the  boys  over  on  Fryin'  Pan 
made  it  up  to  git  'em  together.  Abe 
Shivers  —  you've  heerd  tell  o*  Abe  — 
tol'  Jeb  that  Polly  Ann  had  seed  him 
in  Hazlan  (which  she  hadn't,  of  co'se), 
an*  had  said  p'int-blank  that  he  was 
the  likeliest  feller  she'd  seed  in  them 

43 


COURTIN'  ON   CUTSHIN 

mountains.  An*  he  tol'  Polly  Ann 
that  Jeb  was  ravin'  crazy  'bout  her. 
The  pure  misery  of  it  jes  made  him 
plumb  delirious,  Abe  said ;  an'  'f  Polly 
Ann  wanted  to  find  her  match  fer  lan- 
guige  an'  talkin'  out  peert  —  well,  she 
jes  ought  to  strike  Jeb  Somers.  Fact 
is,  stranger,  Jeb  Somers  air  might*  nigh 
a  idgit ;  but  Jeb  'lowed  he'd  rack  right 
over  on  Cutshin  an'  set  up  with  Polly 
Ann  Sturgill ;  an'  Abe  tells  Polly  Ann 
the  king  bee  air  comin'.  An'  Polly 
Ann's  cousin,  Nance  Osborn,  comes 
over  from  Hell  fer  Sartain  (whut  runs 
into  Kingdom-Come)  to  stay  all  night 
an'  see  the  fun. 

Now,    I    hain't    been   a-raftin*    logs 

down   to   the   settlemints   o'  Kaintuck 

fer  nigh  on  to  twenty  year  fer  noth- 

in'.    An'  I  know  gallivantin'  is  diffent 

44 


COURTIN'   ON   CUTSHIN 

with  us  mountain  fellers  an*  you  fur- 
riners,  in  the  premises,  anyways,  as 
them  lawyers  up  to  court  says ;  though 
I  reckon  hit's  purty  much  the  same 
atter  the  premises  is  over.  Whar  you 
says  "  courtin',"  now,  we  says  "  talkin' 
to."  Sallie  Spurlock  over  on  Fryin' 
Pan  is  a-talkin'  to  Jim  Howard  now. 
Sallie's  sister  hain't  nuver  talked  to  no 
man.  An'  whar  you  says  "  makin'  a 
call  on  a  young  lady,"  we  says  "  settin* 
up  with  a  gal"!  An',  stranger,  we  does 
it.  We  hain't  got  more'n  one  room 
hardly  ever  in  these  mountains,  an' 
we're  jes  obleeged  to  set  up  to  do  any 
courtin'  at  all. 

Well,  you  go  over  to  Sallie's  to  stay 
all  night  some  time,  an'  purty  soon 
atter  supper  Jim  Howard  comes  in. 
The  ole  man  an'  the  ole  woman  goes 

45 


COURTIN'  ON  CUTSHIN 

to  bed,  an*  the  chil'un  an'  you  go  to 
bed,  an*  ef  you  keeps  one  eye  open 
you'll  see  Jim's  cheer  an'  Sallie's  cheer 
a-movin'  purty  soon,  till  they  gets 
plumb  together.  Then,  stranger,  hit 
begins.  Now  I  want  ye  to  understand 
that  settin'  up  means  business.  We 
don't  'low  no  foolishness  in  these 
mountains;  an'  'f  two  fellers  happens 
to  meet  at  the  same  house,  they  jes 
makes  the  gal  say  which  one  she  likes 
best,  an'  t'other  one  gits !  Well,  you'll 
see  Jim  put  his  arm  'round  Sallie's  neck 
an'  whisper  a  long  while — jes  so.  Meb- 
be  you've  noticed  whut  fellers  us  moun 
tain  folks  air  fer  whisperin'.  You've 
seed  fellers  a-whisperin'  all  over  Haz- 
lan  on  court  day,  hain't  ye?  Ole 
Tom  Perkins  '11  put  his  arm  aroun'  yo' 
neck  an'  whisper  in  yo'  year  ef  he's 
46 


COURTIN'  ON   CUTSHIN 

ten  mile  out'n  the  woods.  I  reckon 
thar's  jes  so  much  devilmint  a-goin'  on 
in  these  mountains,  folks  is  naturely 
afeerd  to  talk  out  loud. 

Well,  Jim  let's  go  an*  Sallie  puts  her 
arm  aroun*  Jim's  neck  an*  whispers  a 
long  while  —  jes  so;  an'  'f  you  happen 
to  wake  up  anywhar  to  two  o'clock  in 
the  mornin'  you'll  see  jes  that  a-goin' 
on.  Brother,  that's  settin'  up. 

Well,  Jeb  Somers,  as  I  was  a-sayin* 
in  the  premises,  'lowed  he'd  rack  right 
over  on  Cutshin  an'  set  up  with  Polly 
Ann  comin'  Christmas  night.  An'  Abe 
tells  Polly  Ann  Jeb  says  he  aims  to 
have  her  fer  a  Christmas  gift  afore 
mornin'.  Polly  Ann  jes  sniffed  sorter, 
but  you  know  women  folks  air  always 
mighty  ambitious  jes  to  see  a  feller 
anyways,  'f  he's  a-pinin'  fer  'em.  So 

47 


COURTIN'  ON  CUTSHIN 

Jeb  come,  an'  Jeb  was  fixed  up  now 
fittin'  to  kill.  Jeb  had  his  hair  oiled 
down  nice  an'  slick,  and  his  mustache 
was  jes  black  as  powder  could  make 
hit.  Naturely  hit  was  red  ;  but  a  feller 
can't  do  nothin'  in  these  mountains 
with  a  red  mustache ;  an'  Jeb  had  a 
big  black  ribbon  tied  in  the  butt  o' 
the  bigges'  pistol  Abe  Shivers  could 
borrer  fer  him — hit  was  a  badge  o' 
death  an'  deestruction  to  his  enemies, 
Abe  said,  an'  I  tell  ye  Jeb  did  look 
like  a  man.  He  never  opened  his 
mouth  atter  he  says  "howdy"  —  Jeb 
never  does  say  nothin' ;  Jeb's  one  o' 
them  fellers  whut  hides  thar  lack  o' 
brains  by  a-lookin'  solemn  an'  a-keepin' 
still,  but  thar  don't  nobody  say  much 
tell  the  ole  folks  air  gone  to  bed,  an* 
Polly  Ann  jes  'lowed  Jeb  was  a-waitin'. 
43 


COURTIN'  ON   CUTSHIN 

Fact  is,  stranger,  Abe  Shivers  had  got 
Jeb  a  leetle  disguised  by  liquer,  an'  he 
did  look  fat  an'  sassy,  ef  he  couldn't 
talk,  a-settin'  over  in  the  corner  a- 
plunkin'  the  banjer  an'  a-knocldn'  off 
"  Sour-wood  Mountain  "  an'  "  Jinny  git 
aroun'  "  an'  "Soapsuds  over  the  Fence." 

"  Chickens  a-crowin'  on  Sour- wood  Mountain, 

Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee! 
Git  yo'  dawgs  an'  we'll  go  huntin', 
Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!" 

An'  when  Jeb  comes  to 

"  I've  got  a  gal  at  the  head  o'  the  holler, 
Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!" 

he  jes  turns  one  eye  'round  on  Polly 
Ann,  an'  then  swings  his  chin  aroun'  as 
though  he  didn't  give  a  cuss  fer  nothin'. 

"  She  won't  come,  an'  I  won't  foller, 
Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee !" 
D  49 


COURTIN'  ON   CUTSHIN 

Well,  sir,  Nance  seed  that  Polly  Ann 
was  a-eyin'  Jeb  sort  o*  flustered  like, 
an'  she  come  might*  nigh  splittin'  right 
thar  an*  a-sp'ilin'  the  fun,  fer  she 
knowed  what  a  skeery  fool  Jeb  was. 
An*  when  the  ole  folks  goes  to  bed, 
Nance  lays  thar  under  a  quilt  a-watch- 
in'  an*  a-listenin'.  Well,  Jeb  knowed 
the  premises,  ef  he  couldn't  talk,  an' 
purty  soon  Nance  heerd  Jeb's  cheer 
creak  a  leetle,  an'  she  says,  Jeb's  a- 
comin',  and  Jeb  was;  an'  Polly  Ann 
'lowed  Jeb  was  jes  a  leetle  too  resolute 
an'  quick-like,  an'  she  got  her  hand 
ready  to  give  him  one  lick  anyways 
fer  bein'  so  brigaty.  I  don't  know  as 
she'd  'a'  hit  him  more'n  once.  Jeb  had 
a  farm,  an'  Polly  Ann — well,  Polly  Ann 
was  a-gittin'  along.  But  Polly  Ann 
sot  thar  jes  as  though  she  didn't  know 
50 


COURTIN'  ON   CUTSHIN 

Jeb  was  a-comin',  an'  Jeb  stopped  once 
an*  says, 

"  You  hain't  got  nothin'  agin  me,  has 
ye?" 

An'  Polly  Ann  says,  sorter  quick, 
"Naw;  ef  I  had,  I'd  push  it." 
Well,  Jeb  mos'  fell  off  his  cheer,  when, 
ef  he  hadn't  been  sech  a  skeery  idgit, 
he'd  'a'  knowed  that  Polly  Ann  was 
plain  open  an'  shet  a-biddin'  fer  him. 
But  he  sot  thar  like  a  knot  on  a  log  fer 
haffen  hour,  an'  then  he  rickollected,  I 
reckon,  that  Abe  had  tol'  him  Polly  Ann 
was  peppery  an'  he  mustn't  mind,  fer 
Jeb  begun  a-movin'  ag'in  till  he  was 
slam-bang  agin  Polly  Ann's  cheer.  An' 
thar  he  sot  like  a  punkin,  not  sayin*  a 
word  nurdoin'  nothin'.  An'  while  Polly 
Ann  was  a-wonderin'  ef  he  was  gone 
plumb  crazy,  blame  me  ef  that  durned 
51 


COURTIN'  ON   CUTSHIN 

fool  didn't  turn  roun'  to  that  peppery 
gal  an'  say, 

"Booh,  Polly  Ann!" 

Well,  Nance  had  to  stuff  the  bedquilt 
in  her  mouth  right  thar  to  keep  from 
hollerin'  out  loud,  fer  Polly  Ann's  hand 
was  a-hangin'  down  by  the  cheer,  jes 
a-waitin'  fer  a  job,  and  Nance  seed  the 
fingers  a-twitchin*.  An*  Jeb  waits  an 
other  haffen  hour  an'  Jeb  says, 

"Ortern't  I  be  killed?" 

"Whut  fer?"  says  Polly  Ann,  sorter 
sharp. 

An'  Jeb  says,  "  Fer  bein'  so  devilish." 

Well,  brother,  Nance  snorted  right 
out  thar,  an*  Polly  Ann  Sturgill's  hand 
riz  up  jes  once ;  an'  I've  heerd  Jeb 
Somers  say  the  next  time  he  jumps  out 
o'  the  Fryin'  Pan  he's  a-goin'  to  take  hell- 
fire  'stid  o'  Cutshin  fer  a  place  to  light. 
52 


THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE   SAND 


THE   MESSAGE   IN  THE   SAND 


STRANGER,  you  furriners  don't  nuver 
seem  to  consider  that  a  woman  has 
always  got  the  devil  to  fight  in  two 
people  at  once!  Hit's  two  agin  one,  I 
tell  ye,  an'  hit  hain't  fa'r. 

That's  what  I  said  more'n  two  year 
ago,  when  Rosie  Branham  was  a-layin* 
up  thar  at  Dave  Hall's,  white  an'  mos' 
dead.  An',  God,  boys,  I  says,  that  leetle 
thing  in  thar  by  her  shorely  can't  be  to 
blame. 

Thar  hain't  been  a  word  agin  Rosie 
sence ;  an',  stranger,  I  reckon  thar  nuver 

55 


THE   MESSAGE   IN  THE   SAND 

will  be.  Fer,  while  the  gal  hain't  got 
hide  o'  kith  or  kin,  thar  air  two  fellers 
up  hyeh  sorter  lookin'  atter  Rosie ;  an* 
one  of  'em  is  the  shootin'es'  man  on 
this  crick,  I  reckon,  'cept  one ;  an', 
stranger,  that's  t'other. 

Rosie  kep'  her  mouth  shet  fer  a  long 
while;  an'  I  reckon  as  how  the  feller 
'lowed  she  wasn't  goin'  to  tell.  Co'se 
the  woman  folks  got  hit  out'n  her — they 
al'ays  gits  whut  they  want,  as  you  know 
— an'  thar  the  sorry  cuss  was — a-livin* 
up  thar  in  the  Bend,  jes  aroun'  that 
bluff  o'  lorrel  yander,  a-lookin'  pious,  an' 
a-singin',  an'  a-sayin'  Amen  louder  'n 
anybody  when  thar  was  meetin'. 

Well,  my  boy  Jim  an'  a  lot  o'  fellers 

jes  went  up  fer  him  right  away.    I  don't 

know  as  the  boys  would  'a'  killed  him 

exactly  ef  they  had  kotched  him,  though 

56 


THE   MESSAGE   IN  THE  SAND 

they  mought ;  but  they  got  Abe  Shivers, 
as  tol'  the  feller  they  was  a-comin' — 
you've  heard  tell  o'  Abe — an'  they  mos' 
beat  Abraham  Shivers  to  death.  Stran 
ger,  the  sorry  cuss  was  Dave.  Rosie 
hadn't  no  daddy  an'  no  mammy ;  an' 
she  was  jes  a-workin'  at  Dave's  fer  her 
victuals  an'  clo'es.  'Pears  like  the  pore 
gal  was  jes  tricked  into  evil.  Looked 
like  she  was  sorter  'witched — an'  any 
ways,  stranger,  she  was  a-fightin'  Satan 
in  herself,  as  well  as  in  Dave.  Hit  was 
two  agin  one,  I  tell  ye,  an*  hit  wasn't 
fa'r. 

Co'se  they  turned  Rosie  right  out  in 
the  road.  I  hain't  got  a  word  to  say 
agin  Dave's  wife  fer  that ;  an'  atter  a 
while  the  boys  lets  Dave  come  back,  to 
take  keer  o'  his  ole  mammy,  of  co'se, 
but  I  tell  ye  Dave's  a-playin*  a  purty 

57 


THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  SAND 

lonesome  tune.  He  keeps  purty  shy  yit. 
He  don't  nuver  sa'nter  down  this  way. 
'Pears  like  he  don't  seem  to  think  hit's 
healthy  fer  him  down  hyeh,  an'  I  reckon 
Dave's  right. 

Rosie?  Oh,  well,  I  sorter  tuk  Rosie 
in  myself.  Yes,  she's  been  livin*  thar 
in  the  shack  with  me  an'  my  boy  Jim, 
an'  the —  Why,  thar  he  is  now,  stranger. 
That's  him  a-wallerin'  out  thar  in  the 
road.  Do  you  reckon  thar'd  be  a  single 
thing  agin  that  leetle  cuss  ef  he  had  to 
stan*  up  on  Jedgment  Day  jes  as  he  is 
now? 

Look  hyeh,  stranger,  whut  you  reckon 
the  Lawd  kep*  a-writin'  thar  on  the 
groun'  that  day  when  them  fellers  was 
a-pesterin'  him  'bout  that  pore  woman  ? 
Don't  you  jes  know  he  was  a  writin' 
'bout  sech  as  him  —  an'  Rosie?  I  tell 
58 


THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  SAND 

ye,  brother,  he  writ  thar  jes  what  I'm 
al'ays  a-sayin'. 

Hit  hain't  the  woman's  fault.  I  said 
it  more'n  two  year  ago,  when  Rosie  was 
up  thar  at  ole  Dave's,  an'  I  said  it 
yestiddy,  when  my  boy  Jim  come  to 
me  an*  'lowed  as  how  he  aimed  to 
take  Rosie  down  to  town  to-day  an* 
git  married. 

"You  ricollect,  dad,"  says  Jim,  "her 
mammy?" 

"Yes,  Jim,"  I  says;  "all  the  better 
reason  not  to  be  too  hard  on  Rosie." 

I'm  a-lookin'  fer  'em  both  back  right 
now,  stranger;  an'  ef  you  will,  I'll  be 
mighty  glad  to  have  ye  stay  right  hyeh 
to  the  infair  this  very  night.  Thar  nuver 
was  a  word  agin  Rosie  afore,  thar  hain't 
been  sence,an'  you  kin  ride  up  an'  down 
this  river  till  the  crack  o'  doom  an'  you'll 

59 


THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  SAND 

nuver  hear  a  word  agin  her  ag'in.  Fer, 
as  I  tol'  you,  my  boy,  Jim  is  the  shoot- 
in'es'  feller  on  this  crick,  I  reckon,  'cept 
one,  an',  stranger,  that's  me  ! 


THE,  SENATOR'S   LAST  TRADE 


THE   SENATOR'S   LAST  TRADE 


A  DROVE  of  lean  cattle  were  swing 
ing  easily  over  Black  Mountain,  and 
behind  them  came  a  big  man  with 
wild  black  hair  and  a  bushy  beard. 
Now  and  then  he  would  gnaw  at  his 
mustache  with  his  long,  yellow  teeth, 
or  would  sit  down  to  let  his  lean  horse 
rest,  and  would  flip  meaninglessly  at 
the  bushes  with  a  switch.  Sometimes 
his  bushy  head  would  droop  over  on 
his  breast,  and  he  would  snap  it  up 
sharply  and  start  painfully  on.  Rob 
ber,  cattle-thief,  outlaw  he  might  have 
63 


THE   SENATOR'S   LAST  TRADE 

been  in  another  century ;  for  he  filled 
the  figure  of  any  robber  hero  in  life 
or  romance,  and  yet  he  was  only  the 
Senator  from  Bell,  as  he  was  known 
in  the  little  Kentucky  capital ;  or,  as 
he  was  known  in  his  mountain  home, 
just  the  Senator,  who  had  toiled  and 
schemed  and  grown  rich  and  grown  poor; 
who  had  suffered  long  and  was  kind. 

Only  that  Christmas  he  had  gutted 
every  store  in  town.  "  Give  me  every 
thing  you  have,  brother,"  he  said,  across 
each  counter ;  and  next  day  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  the  mountain 
town  had  a  present  from  the  Senator's 
hands.  He  looked  like  a  brigand  that 
day,  as  he  looked  now,  but  he  called 
every  man  his  brother,  and  his  eye, 
while  black  and  lustreless  as  night,  was 
as  brooding  and  just  as  kind. 
64 


THE   SENATOR'S   LAST  TRADE 

When  the  boom  went  down,  with  it 
and  with  everybody  else  went  the  Sen 
ator.  Slowly  he  got  dusty,  ragged, 
long  of  hair.  He  looked  tortured  and 
ever-restless.  You  never  saw  him  still ; 
always  he  swept  by  you,  flapping  his 
legs  on  his  lean  horse  or  his  arms  in 
his  rickety  buggy  here,  there,  every 
where — turning,  twisting,  fighting  his 
way  back  to  freedom — and  not  a  mur 
mur.  Still  was  every  man  his  brother, 
and  if  some  forgot  his  once  open  hand, 
he  forgot  it  no  more  completely  than 
did  the  Senator.  He  went  very  far  to 
pay  his  debts.  He  felt  honor  bound, 
indeed,  to  ask  his  sister  to  give  back 
the  farm  that  he  had  given  her,  which, 
very  properly  people  said,  she  declined 
to  do.  Nothing  could  kill  hope  in  the 
Senator's  breast ;  he  would  hand  back 

E  65 


THE   SENATOR'S  LAST   TRADE 

the  farm  in  another  year,  he  said ;  but 
the  sister  was  firm,  and  without  a  word 
still,  the  Senator  went  other  ways  and 
schemed  through  the  nights,  and  work 
ed  and  rode  and  walked  and  traded 
through  the  days,  until  now,  when  the 
light  was  beginning  to  glimmer,  his 
end  was  come. 

This  was  the  Senator's  last  trade,  and 
in  sight,  down  in  a  Kentucky  valley, 
was  home.  Strangely  enough,  the  Sen 
ator  did  not  care  at  all,  and  he  had 
just  enough  sanity  left  to  wonder  why, 
and  to  be  worried.  It  was  the  "  walk 
ing  typhoid  "  that  had  caught  up  with 
him,  and  he  was  listless,  and  he  made 
strange  gestures  and  did  foolish  things 
as  he  stumbled  down  the  mountain. 
He  was  going  over  a  little  knoll  now, 
and  he  could  see  the  creek  that  ran 

66 


THE  SENATOR'S   LAST   TRADE 

around  his  house,  but  he  was  not 
touched.  He  would  just  as  soon  have 
lain  down  right  where  he  was,  or  have 
turned  around  and  gone  back,  except 
that  it  was  hot  and  he  wanted  to  get 
to  the  water.  He  remembered  that  it 
was  nigh  Christmas ;  he  saw  the  snow 
about  him  and  the  cakes  of  ice  in  the 
creek.  He  knew  that  he  ought  not  to 
be  hot,  and  yet  he  was — so  hot  that 
he  refused  to  reason  with  himself  even 
a  minute,  and  hurried  on.  It  was  odd 
that  it  should  be  so,  but  just  about 
that  time,  over  in  Virginia,  a  cattle- 
dealer,  nearing  home,  stopped  to  tell 
a  neighbor  how  he  had  tricked  some 
black-whiskered  fool  up  in  the  moun 
tains.  It  may  have  been  just  when  he 
was  laughing  aloud  over  there,  that  the 
Senator,  over  here,  tore  his  woollen 
67 


THE  SENATOR'S  LAST  TRADE 

shirt  from  his  great  hairy  chest  and 
rushed  into  the  icy  stream,  clapping 
his  arms  to  his  burning  sides  and 
shouting  in  his  frenzy. 

"  If  he  had  lived  a  little  longer,"  said 
a  constituent,  "  he  would  have  lost  the 
next  election.  He  hadn't  the  money, 
you  know." 

"  If  he  had  lived  a  little  longer,"  said 
the  mountain  preacher  high  up  on  Yel 
low  Creek,  "  I'd  have  got  that  trade  I 
had  on  hand  with  him  through.  Not 
that  I  wanted  him  to  die,  but  if  he 
had  to — why — " 

"If  he  had  lived  a  little  longer," 
said  the  Senator's  lawyer,  "he  would 
have  cleaned  off  the  score  against 
him." 

"  If  he  had  lived  a  little  longer,"  said 
the  Senator's  sister,  not  meaning  to 

68 


THE   SENATOR'S  LAST  TRADE 

be  unkind,  "  he  would   have   got  all   I 
have." 

That  was  what  life  held  for  the  Sen 
ator.     Death  was  more  kind. 


PREACHIN'  ON  KINGDOM-COME 


PREACHIN'    ON    KINGDOM-COME 


I'VE  told  ye,  stranger,  that  Hell  fer 
Sartain  empties,  as  it  oughter,  of  co'se, 
into  Kingdom-Come.  You  can  ketch 
the  devil  'most  any  day  in  the  week  on 
Hell  fer  Sartain,  an*  sometimes  you  can 
git  Glory  everlastin*  on  Kingdom-Come. 
Hit's  the  only  meetin'- house  thar  in 
twenty  miles  aroun'. 

Well,  the  reg'lar  rider,  ole  Jim  Skaggs, 
was  dead,  an'  the  bretherin  was  a-lookin' 
aroun'  fer  somebody  to  step  into  ole 
Jim's  shoes.  Thar'd  been  one  young 
feller  up  thar  from  the  settlemints,  a-ca- 

73 


PREACHIN'  ON  KINGDOM-COME 

vortin'  aroun',  an'  they  was  studyin* 
'bout  gittin'  him. 

"  Bretherin'  an'  sisteren,"  I  says,  atter 
the  leetle  chap  was  gone,  "  he's  got  the 
fortitood  to  speak  an'  he  shorely  is  well 
favored.  He's  got  a  mighty  good  hawk 
eye  fer  spyin'  out  evil — an'  the  gals ;  he 
can  outholler  ole  Jim  ;  an'  if"  I  says, 
"any  idees  ever  comes  to  him,  he'll  be 
a  hell-rouser  shore — but  they  ain't  corn- 
in'!"  An',  so  sayin',  I  takes  my  foot  in 
my  hand  an'  steps  fer  home. 

Stranger,  them  fellers  over  thar  hain't 
seed  much  o'  this  world.  Lots  of  'em 
nuver  seed  the  cyars ;  some  of  'em  nuver 
seed  a  wagon.  An'  atter  jowerin'  an' 
noratin'  fer  'bout  two  hours,  what  you 
reckon  they  said  they  aimed  to  do? 
They  believed  they'd  take  that  ar  man 
Beecher,  ef  they  could  git  him  to  come. 
74 


PREACHIN'  ON  KINGDOM-COME 

They'd  heerd  o'  Henry  endurin'  the  war, 
an'  they  knowed  he  was  agin  the  rebs, 
an'  they  wanted  Henry  if  they  could 
jes  git  him  to  come. 

Well,  I  snorted,  an*  the  feud  broke 
out  on  Hell  fer  Sartain  betwixt  the  Days 
an'  the  Dillons.  Mace  Day  shot  Daws 
Dillon's  brother,  as  I  rickollect — some- 
p'n's  al'ays  a-startin'  up  that  plaguey 
war  an*  a-makin'  things  frolicsome  over 
thar — an'  ef  it  hadn't  a-been  fer  a  tall 
young  feller  with  black  hair  an'  a  scar 
across  his  forehead,  who  was  a-goin' 
through  the  mountains  a-settlin*  these 
wars,  blame  me  ef  I  believe  thar  ever 
would  'a*  been  any  mo*  preachin'  on 
Kingdom-Come.  This  feller  comes  over 
from  Hazlan  an'  says  he  aims  to  hold  a 
meetin'  on  Kingdom-Come.  "  Brother," 
I  says,  "  that's  what  no  preacher  have 
75 


PREACHIN'  ON   KINGDOM-COME 

ever  did  whilst  this  war  is  a-goin'  on." 
An*  he  says,  sort  o'  quiet,  "  Well,  then,  I 
reckon  I'll  have  to  do  what  no  preacher 
have  ever  did."  An'  I  ups  an'  says: 
"  Brother,  an  ole  jedge  come  up  here 
once  from  the  settlemints  to  hold  couht. 
*  Jedge,'  I  says,  *  that's  what  no  jedge 
have  ever  did  without  soldiers  since  this 
war's  been  a-goin'  on.'  An',  brother,  the 
jedge's  words  was  yours,  p'int- blank. 
'  All  right,'  he  says,  '  then  I'll  have  to  do 
what  no  other  jedge  have  ever  did.' 
An',  brother,"  says  I  to  the  preacher, 
"  the  jedge  done  it  shore.  He  jes  laid 
under  the  couht-house  fer  two  days  whilst 
the  boys  fit  over  him.  An*  when  I  sees 
the  jedge  a-makin'  tracks  fer  the  settle- 
mints,  I  says, '  Jedge,'  I  says,  *  you  spoke 
a  parable  shore.' " 

Well,  sir,  the  long  preacher  looked 
76 


PREACHIN'  ON  KINGDOM-COME 

jes  as  though  he  was  a-sayin'  to  hisself, 
"  Yes,  I  hear  ye,  but  I  don't  heed  ye," 
an'  when  he  says,  "  Jes  the  same,  I'm 
a-goin'  to  hold  a  meetin'  on  Kingdom- 
Come,"  why,  I  jes  takes  my  foot  in  my 
hand  an'  ag'in  I  steps  fer  home. 

That  night,  stranger,  I  seed  another 
feller  from  Hazlan,  who  was  a-tellin'  how 
this  here  preacher  had  stopped  the  war 
over  thar,  an'  had  got  the  Marcums  an' 
Braytons  to  shakin'  hands ;  an'  next  day 
ole  Tom  Perkins  stops  in  an*  says  that 
wharas  there  mought  'a'  been  preachin' 
somewhar  an' sometime,  thar  nuver  had 
beenfreac/im'  afore  on  Kingdom-Come. 
So  I  goes  over  to  the  meetin'-house,  an' 
they  was  all  thar  — Daws  Dillon  an' 
Mace  Day,  the  leaders  in  the  war,  an' 
Abe  Shivers  (you've  heerd  tell  o'  Abe) 
who  was  a-carryin'  tales  from  one  side  to 

77 


PREACHIN'  ON   KINGDOM-COME 

t'other  an'  a-stirrin'  up  hell  ginerally,  as 
Abe  most  al'ays  is;  an*  thar  was  Daws 
on  one  side  o'  the  meetin'-house  an* 
Mace  on  t'other,  an'  both  jes  a-watchin' 
fer  t'other  to  make  a  move,  an'  thar'd 
'a'  been  billy -hell  to  pay  right  thar! 
Stranger,  that  long  preacher  talked  jes 
as  easy  as  I'm  a-talkin'  now,  an'  hit  was 
p'int-blank  as  the  feller  from  Hazlan 
said.  You  jes  ought  'a'  heerd  him  tellin' 
about  the  Lawd  a-bein'  as  pore  as  any 
feller  thar,  an'  a-makin'  barns  an'  fences 
an'  ox-yokes  an'  sech  like;  an'  not 
a-bein'  able  to  write  his  own  name — 
havin'  to  make  his  mark  mebbe — when 
he  started  out  to  save  the  world.  An' 
how  they  tuk  him  an'  nailed  him  onto 
a  cross  when  he'd  come  down  fer  nothin' 
but  to  save  'em ;  an'  stuck  a  spear  big  as 
a  corn-knife  into  his  side,  an'  give  him 
73 


PREACHIN'  ON   KINGDOM-COME 

vinegar ;  an'  his  own  mammy  a-standin* 
down  thar  on  the  ground  a-cryin'  an* 
a-watchin'  him ;  an'  he  a-fergivin*  all  of 
'em  then  an'  thar ! 

Thar  nuver  had  been  nothin'  like  that 
afore  on  Kingdom-Come,  an*  all  along  I 
heerd  fellers  a-layin'  thar  guns  down ; 
an'  when  the  preacher  called  out  fer 
sinners,  blame  me  ef  the  fust  feller  that 
riz  wasn't  Mace  Day.  An*  Mace  says, 
"  Stranger,  'f  what  you  say  is  true,  I 
reckon  the  Lawd  '11  fergive  me  too,  but 
I  don't  believe  Daws  Dillon  ever  will," 
an'  Mace  stood  thar  lookin'  around  fer 
Daws.  An'  all  of  a  sudden  the  preacher 
got  up  straight  an'  called  out,  "  Is  thar 
a  human  in  this  house  mean  an*  sorry 
enough  to  stand  betwixt  a  man  an'  his 
Maker '?  An'  right  thar,  stranger,  Daws 
riz.  "  Naw,  by  God,  thar  hain't !"  Daws 

79 


PREACHIN'  ON   KINGDOM-COME 

says,  an'  he  walks  up  to  Mace  a-holdin' 
out  his  hand,  an*  they  all  busts  out 
cryin*  an'  shakin'  hands — Days  an*  Dil 
lons — jes  as  the  preacher  had  made  'em 
do  over  in  Hazlan.  An'  atter  the  thing 
was  over,  I  steps  up  to  the  preacher  an* 
I  says : 

"  Brother,"  I  says,  "you  spoke  a  para 
ble,  shore.*' 


THE   PASSING    OF   ABRAHAM 
SHIVERS 


THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM 
SHIVERS 


"  I  TELL  ye,  boys,  hit  hain't  often  a 
feller  haS  the  chance  o'  doin'  so  much 
good  jes  by  dyin\  Fer  'f  Abe  Shivers 
air  gone,  shorely  gone,  the  rest  of  us — 
every  durn  one  of  us — air  a-goin'  to  be 
saved.  Fer  Abe  Shivers  —  you  hain't 
heerd  tell  o*  Abe  ?  Well,  you  must  be  a 
stranger  in  these  mountains  o'  Kaintuck, 
shore. 

"  I  don't  know,  stranger,  as  Abe  ever 
was  borned ;  nobody  in  these  mountains 
knows  it  'f  he  was.  The  fust  time  I  ever 
83 


THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM  SHIVERS 

heerd  tell  o'  Abe  he  was  a-hollerin'  fer  his 
rights  one  mawnin'  at  daylight,  endurin' 
the  war,  jes  outside  o'  ole  Tom  Perkins' 
door  on  Fryin'  Pan.  Abe  was  left  thar 
by  some  home-gyard,  I  reckon.  Well, 
nobody  air  ever  turned  out'n  doors  in 
these  mountains,  as  you  know,  an*  Abe 
got  his  rights  that  mawin',  an'  he's  been 
a-gittin'  'em  ever  sence.  Tom  already 
had  a  houseful,  but  'f  any  feller  got  the 
bigges'  hunk  o'  corn-bread,  that  feller  was 
Abe;  an'  ef  any  feller  got  a-whalin', 
hit  wasn't  Abe. 

"Abe  tuk  to  lyin'  right  naturely — 
looked  like — afore  he  could  talk.  Fact 
is,  Abe  nuver  could  do  nothin*  but  jes 
whisper.  Still,  Abe  could  manage  to 
send  a  lie  furder  with  that  rattlin* 
whisper  than  ole  Tom  could  with 
that  big  horn  o'  hisn  what  tells  the 
84 


THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM  SHIVERS 

boys  the  revenoos  air  comin'  up  Fryin' 
Pan.' 

"  Didn't  take  Abe  long  to  git  to  brag- 
gin'  an'  drinkin'  an'  naggin'  an'  hectorin' 
— everything,  'mos',  'cept  fightin'.  No 
body  ever  drawed  Abe  Shivers  into  a 
fight.  I  don't  know  as  he  was  afeerd ; 
looked  like  Abe  was  a-havin'  sech  a  tar 
nation  good  time  with  his  devilmint  he 
jes  didn't  want  to  run  no  risk  o'  havin* 
hit  stopped.  An'  sech  devilmint!  Hit 
ud  take  a  coon's  age,  I  reckon,  to  tell 
ye. 

"The  boys  was  a-goin'  up  the  river 
one  night  to  git  ole  Dave  Hall  fer  trickin' 
Rosie  Branham  into  evil.  Some  feller 
goes  ahead  an'  tells  ole  Dave  they's 
a-comin.'  Hit  was  Abe.  Some  feller 
finds  a  streak  o'  ore  on  ole  Tom  Perkins' 
land,  an'  racks  his  jinny  down  to  town, 
85 


THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM  SHIVERS 

an*  tells  a  furriner  thar,  an'  Tom  comes 
might'  nigh  sellin'  the  land  fer  nothin'. 
Now  Tom  raised  Abe,  but,  jes  the  same, 
the  feller  was  Abe. 

"One  night  somebody  guides  the 
revenoos  in  on  Hell  fer  Sartain,  an'  they 
cuts  up  four  stills.  Hit  was  Abe.  The 
same  night,  mind  ye,  a  feller  slips  in 
among  the  revenoos  while  they's  asleep, 
and  cuts  off  their  hosses'  manes  an' 
tails  —  muled  every  durned  critter  uv 
'em.  Stranger,  hit  was  Abe.  An'  as 
fer  women -folks  —  well,  Abe  was  the 
ill  -  favoredest  feller  I  ever  see,  an'  he 
couldn't  talk ;  still,  Abe  was  sassy,  an' 
you  know  how  sass  counts  with  the  gals  ; 
an'  Abe's  whisperin'  come  in  jes  as 
handy  as  any  feller's  settin'  up ;  so  'f 
ever  you  seed  a  man  with  a  Winches 
ter  a-lookin'  fer  the  feller  who  had  cut 

86 


THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM  SHIVERS 

him  out,  stranger,  he  was  a-lookm'  fer 
Abe. 

"  Somebody  tells  Harve  Hall,  up  thar 
at  a  dance  on  Hell-fer-Sartain  one  Christ- . 
mas  night,  that  Rich  Harp  had  said 
somep'n'  agin  him  an*  Nance  Osborn. 
An*  somebody  tells  Rich  that  Harve  had 
said  sompe'n'  agin  Nance  an'  him.  Hit 
was  one  an'  the  same  feller,  stranger,  an' 
the  feller  was  Abe.  Well,  while  Rich 
an'  Harve  was  a-gittin'  well,  somebody 
runs  off  with  Nance.  Hit  was  Abe. 
Then  Rich  an'  Harve  jes  draws  straws 
fer  a  feller.  Stranger,  they  drawed  fer 
Abe.  Hit's  purty  hard  to  believe  that 
Abe  air  gone,  'cept  that  Rich  Harp  an' 
Harve  Hall  don't  never  draw  no  straws 
fer  nothin';  but  'f  by  the  grace  o'  Goddle- 
mighty  Abe  air  gone,  why,  as  I  was 
a-sayin',  the  rest  of  us — every  durned  one 
87 


THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM  SHIVERS 

of  us — air  a-goin*  to  be  saved,  shore. 
Fer  Abe's  gone  fust,  an*  ef  thar's  only 
one  Jedgment  Day,  the  Lawd  '11  nuver 
git  to  us." 


A  PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 


A  PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 


THE  purple  rhododendron  is  rare. 
Up  in  the  Gap  here,  Bee  Rock,  hung 
out  over  Roaring  Rock,  blossoms  with 
it — as  a  gray  cloud  purples  with  the 
sunrise.  This  rock  was  tossed  lightly 
on  edge  when  the  earth  was  young,  and 
stands  vertical.  To  get  the  flowers  you 
climb  the  mountain  to  one  side,  and, 
balancing  on  the  rock's  thin  edge,  slip 
down  by  roots  and  past  rattlesnake  dens 
till  you  hang  out  over  the  water  and 
reach  for  them.  To  avoid  snakes  it  is 
best  to  go  when  it  is  cool,  at  daybreak. 
-91 


A   PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 

I  know  but  one  other  place  in  this 
southwest  corner  of  Virginia  where 
there  is  another  bush  of  purple  rhodo 
dendron,  and  one  bush  only  is  there. 
This  hangs  at  the  throat  of  a  peak  not 
far  away,  whose  ageless  gray  head  is 
bent  over  a  ravine  that  sinks  like  a 
spear  thrust  into  the  side  of  the  moun 
tain.  Swept  only  by  high  wind  and 
eagle  wings  as  this  is,  I  yet  knew  one 
man  foolhardy  enough  to  climb  to  it 
for  a  flower.  He  brought  one  blossom 
down :  and  to  this  day  I  do  not  know 
that  it  was  not  the  act  of  a  coward ; 
yes,  though  Grayson  did  it,  actually 
smiling  all  the  way  from  peak  to  ra 
vine,  and  though  he  was  my  best  friend 
— best  loved  then  and  since.  I  believe 
he  was  the  strangest  man  I  have  ever 
known,  and  I  say  this  with  thought; 
92 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

for  his  eccentricities  were  sincere.  In 
all  he  did  I  cannot  remember  having 
even  suspected  anything  theatrical  but 
once. 

We  were  all  Virginians  or  Kentuck- 
ians  at  the  Gap,  and  Grayson  was  a 
Virginian.  You  might  have  guessed 
that  he  was  a  Southerner  from  his  voice 
and  from  the  way  he  spoke  of  women 
— but  no  more.  Otherwise,  he  might 
have  been  a  Moor,  except  for  his  color, 
which  was  about  the  only  racial  charac 
teristic  he  had.  He  had  been  educated 
abroad  and,  after  the  English  habit,  had 
travelled  everywhere.  And  yet  I  can 
imagine  no  more  lonely  way  between 
the  eternities  than  the  path  Grayson 
trod  alone. 

He  came  to  the  Gap  in  the  early 
days,  and  just  why  he  came  I  never 

93 


A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 

knew.  He  had  studied  the  iron  ques 
tion  a  long  time,  he  told  me,  and  what 
I  thought  reckless  speculation  was,  it 
seems,  deliberate  judgment  to  him.  His 
money  "  in  the  dirt,"  as  the  phrase  was, 
Grayson  got  him  a  horse  and  rode  the 
hills  and  waited.  He  was  intimate  with 
nobody.  Occasionally  he  would  play 
poker  with  us  and  sometimes  he  drank 
a  good  deal,  but  liquor  never  loosed  his 
tongue.  At  poker  his  face  told  as  little 
as  the  back  of  his  cards,  and  he  won  more 
than  admiration  —  even  from  the  Ken- 
tuckians,  who  are  artists  at  the  game  ; 
but  the  money  went  from  a  free  hand, 
and,  after  a  diversion  like  this,  he  was 
apt  to  be  moody  and  to  keep  more  to 
himself  than  ever.  Every  fortnight  or 
two  he  would  disappear,  always  over 
Sunday.  In  three  or  four  days  he 

94 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

would  turn  up  again,  black  with  brood 
ing,  and  then  he  was  the  last  man  to 
leave  the  card-table  or  he  kept  away 
from  it  altogether.  Where  he  went  no 
body  knew ;  and  he  was  not  the  man 
anybody  would  question. 

One  night  two  of  us  Kentuckians 
were  sitting  in  the  club,  and  from  a 
home  paper  I  read  aloud  the  rumored 
engagement  of  a  girl  we  both  knew — 
who  was  famous  for  beauty  in  the  Blue- 
grass,  as  was  her  mother  before  her  and 
the  mother  before  her — to  an  unnamed 
Virginian.  Grayson  sat  near,  smoking  a 
pipe ;  and  when  I  read  the  girl's  name 
I  saw  him  take  the  meerschaum  from 
his  lips,  and  I  felt  his  eyes  on  me.  It 
was  a  mystery  how,  but  I  knew  at  once 
that  Grayson  was  the  man.  He  sought 
me  out  after  that  and  seemed  to  want 
95 


A  PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

to  make  friends.  I  was  willing,  or,  rath 
er  he  made  me  more  than  willing ;  for 
he  was  irresistible  to  me,  as  I  imagine 
he  would  have  been  to  anybody.  We 
got  to  walking  together  and  riding  to 
gether  at  night,  and  we  were  soon  rather 
intimate ;  but  for  a  long  time  he  never 
so  much  as  spoke  the  girl's  name.  In 
deed,  he  kept  away  from  the  Bluegrass 
for  nearly  two  months;  but  when  he 
did  go  he  stayed  a  fortnight. 

This  time  he  came  for  me  as  soon  as 
he  got  back  to  the  Gap.  It  was  just 
before  midnight,  and  we  went  as  usual 
back  of  Imboden  Hill,  through  moon- 
dappled  beeches,  and  Grayson  turned 
off  into  the  woods  where  there  was 
no  path,  both  of  us  silent.  We  rode 
through  tremulous,  shining  leaves  — 
Grayson's  horse  choosing  a  way  for  him- 
96 


A  PURPLE    RHODODENDRON 

self  —  and,  threshing  through  a  patch 
of  high,  strong  weeds,  we  circled  past  an 
amphitheatre  of  deadened  trees  whose 
crooked  arms  were  tossed  out  into  the 
moonlight,  and  halted  on  the  spur.  The 
moon  was  poised  over  Morris's  farm  ; 
South  Fork  was  shining  under  us  like  a 
loop  of  gold,  the  mountains  lay  about  in 
tranquil  heaps,  and  the  moon-mist  rose 
luminous  between  them.  There  Gray- 
son  turned  to  me  with  an  eager  light  in 
his  eyes  that  I  had  never  seen  before. 

"  This  has  a  new  beauty  to-night !" 
he  said ;  and  then  "  I  told  her  about 
you,  and  she  said  that  she  used  to  know 
you — well."  I  was  glad  my  face  was  in 
shadow  —  I  could  hardly  keep  back  a 
brutal  laugh  —  and  Grayson,  unseeing, 
went  on  to  speak  of  her  as  I  had  never 
heard  any  man  speak  of  any  woman.  In 
G  97 


A  PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

the  end,  he  said  that  she  had  just  prom 
ised  to  be  his  wife.  I  answered  noth 
ing.  Other  men,  I  knew,  had  said  that 
with  the  same  right,  perhaps,  and  had 
gone  from  her  to  go  back  no  more. 
And  I  was  one  of  them.  Grayson  had 
met  her  at  White  Sulphur  five  years 
before,  and  had  loved  her  ever  since. 
She  had  known  it  from  the  first,  he 
said,  and  I  guessed  then  what  was  going 
to  happen  to  him.  I  marvelled,  listen 
ing  to  the  man,  for  it  was  the  star  of 
constancy  in  her  white  soul  that  was 
most  lustrous  to  him — and  while  I  won 
dered  the  marvel  became  a  common 
place.  Did  not  every  lover  think  his 
loved  one  exempt  from  the  frailty  that 
names  other  women  ?  There  is  no  ideal 
of  faith  or  of  purity  that  does  not  live 
in  countless  women  to-day.  I  believe 
98 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

that;  but  could  I  not  recall  one  friend 
who  walked  with  Divinity  through  pine 
woods  for  one  immortal  spring,  and  who, 
being  sick  to  death,  was  quite  finished 
— learning  her  at  last?  Did  I  not  know 
lovers  who  believed  sacred  to  them 
selves,  in  the  name  of  love,  lips  that 
had  been  given  to  many  another  with 
out  it  ?  And  now  did  I  not  know — but 
I  knew  too  much,  and  to  Grayson  I  said 
nothing. 

That  spring  the  "  boom  "  came.  Gray- 
son's  property  quadrupled  in  value  and 
quadrupled  again.  I  was  his  lawyer,,and 
I  plead  with  him  to  sell ;  but  Grayson 
laughed.  He  was  not  speculating;  he 
had  invested  on  judgment ;  he  would 
sell  only  at  a  certain  figure.  The  figure 
was  actually  reached,  and  Grayson  let 
half  go.  The  boom  fell,  and  Grayson 

99 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

took  the  tumble  with  a  jest.  It  would 
come  again  in  the  autumn,  he  said,  and 
he  went  off  to  meet  the  girl  at  White 
Sulphur. 

I  worked  right  hard  that  summer,  but 
I  missed  him,  and  I  surely  was  glad 
when  he  came  back.  Something  was 
wrong ;  I  saw  it  at  once.  He  did  not 
mention  her  name,  and  for  a  while  he 
avoided  even  me.  I  sought  him  then, 
and  gradually  I  got  him  into  our  old 
habit  of  walking  up  into  the  Gap  and  of 
sitting  out  after  supper  on  a  big  rock  in 
the  valley,  listening  to  the  run  of  the 
river  and  watching  the  afterglow  over 
the  Cumberland,  the  moon  rise  over 
Wallen's  Ridge  and  the  stars  come  out. 
Waiting  for  him  to  speak,  I  learned  for 
the  first  time  then  another  secret  of  his 
wretched  melancholy.  It  was  the  hope- 

100 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

lessness  of  that  time,  perhaps,  that  dis 
closed  it.  Grayson  had  lost  the  faith 
of  his  childhood.  Most  men  do  that  at 
some  time  or  other,  but  Grayson  had 
no  business,  no  profession,  no  art  in 
which  to  find  relief.  Indeed,  there  was 
but  one  substitute  possible,  and  that 
came  like  a  gift  straight  from  the  God 
whom  he  denied.  Love  came,  and  Gray- 
son's  ideals  of  love,  as  of  everything 
else,  were  morbid  and  quixotic.  He 
believed  that  he  owed  it  to  the  woman 
he  should  marry  never  to  have  loved 
another.  He  had  loved  but  one  wom 
an,  he  said,  and  he  should  love  but  one. 
I  believed  him  then  literally  when  he 
said  that  his  love  for  the  Kentucky 
girl  was  his  religion  now  —  the  only 
anchor  left  him  in  his  sea  of  troubles, 
the  only  star  that  gave  him  guid- 

101 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

ing    light.     Without    this    love,   what 
then? 

I  had  a  strong  impulse  to  ask  him, 
but  Grayson  shivered,  as  though  he 
divined  my  thought,  and,  in  some  re 
lentless  way,  our  talk  drifted  to  the 
question  of  suicide.  I  was  not  surprised 
that  he  rather  defended  it.  Neither  of 
us  said  anything  new,  only  I  did  not 
like  the  way  he  talked.  He  was  too 
deliberate,  too  serious,  as  though  he 
were  really  facing  a  possible  fact.  He 
had  no  religious  scruples,  he  said,  no 
family  ties ;  he  had  nothing  to  do  with 
bringing  himself  into  life;  why  —  if  it 
was  not  worth  living,  not  bearable — 
why  should  he  not  end  it?  He  gave 
the  usual  authority,  and  I  gave  the 
usual  answer.  Religion  aside,  if  we  did 
not  know  that  we  were  here  for  some 

102 


A  PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

purpose,  we  did  not  know  that  we  were 
not ;  and  here  we  were  anyway,  and 
our  duty  was  plain.  Desertion  was  the 
act  of  a  coward,  and  that  Grayson  could 
not  deny. 

That  autumn  the  crash  of  '91  came 
across  the  water  from  England,  and 
Grayson  gave  up.  He  went  to  Rich 
mond,  and  came  back  with  money 
enough  to  pay  off  his  notes,  and  I 
think  it  took  nearly  all  he  had.  Still, 
he  played  poker  steadily  now — for  poker 
had  been  resumed  when  it  was  no  long 
er  possible  to  gamble  in  lots — he  drank 
a  good  deal,  and  he  began  just  at  this 
time  to  take  a  singular  interest  in  our 
volunteer  police  guard.  He  had  always 
been  on  hand  when  there  was  trouble, 
and  I  sha'n't  soon  forget  him  the  day 
Senator  Mahone  spoke,  when  we  were 
103 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

punching  a  crowd  of  mountaineers  back 
with  cocked  Winchesters.  He  had  lost 
his  hat  in  a  struggle  with  one  giant ;  he 
looked  half  crazy  with  anger,  and  yet 
he  was  white  and  perfectly  cool,  and  I 
noticed  that  he  never  had  to  tell  a  man 
but  once  to  stand  back.  Now  he  was 
the  first  man  to  answer  a  police  whistle. 
When  we  were  guarding  Talt  Hall,  he 
always  volunteered  when  there  was  any 
unusual  risk  to  run.  When  we  raided 
the  Pound  to  capture  a  gang  of  despe 
radoes,  he  insisted  on  going  ahead  as 
spy;  and  when  we  got  restless  lying 
out  in  the  woods  waiting  for  daybreak, 
and  the  captain  suggested  a  charge  on 
the  cabin,  Grayson  was  by  his  side  when 
it  was  made.  Grayson  sprang  through 
the  door  first,  and  he  was  the  man  who 
thrust  his  reckless  head  up  into  the  loft 
104 


A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 

and  lighted  a  match  to  see  if  the  mur 
derers  were  there.  Most  of  us  did  fool 
ish  things  in  those  days  under  stress 
of  excitement,  but  Grayson,  I  saw,  was 
weak  enough  to  be  reckless.  His  trouble 
with  the  girl,  whatever  it  was,  was  se 
rious  enough  to  make  him  apparently 
care  little  whether  he  were  alive  or  dead. 
And  still  I  saw  that  not  yet  even  had 
he  lost  hope.  He  was  having  a  sore 
fight  with  his  pride,  and  he  got  body- 
worn  and  heart-sick  over  it.  Of  course 
he  was  worsted,  and  in  the  end,  from 
sheer  weakness,  he  went  back  to  her 
once  more. 

I  shall  never  see  another  face  like  his 
when  Grayson  came  back  that  last  time. 
I  never  noticed  before  that  there  were 
silver  hairs  about  his  temples.  He  stayed 
in  his  room,  and  had  his  meals  sent  to 
105 


A   PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 

him.  He  came  out  only  to  ride,  and  then 
at  night.  Waking  the  third  morning  at 
daybreak,  I  saw  him  through  the  window 
galloping  past,  and  I  knew  he  had  spent 
the  night  on  Black  Mountain.  I  went 
to  his  room  as  soon  as  I  got  up,  and 
Grayson  was  lying  across  his  bed  with 
his  face  down,  his  clothes  on,  and  in  his 
right  hand  was  a  revolver.  I  reeled 
into  a  chair  before  I  had  strength  enough 
to  bend  over  him,  and  when  I  did  I 
found  him  asleep.  I  left  him  as  he  was, 
and  I  never  let  him  know  that  I  had 
been  to  his  room  ;  but  I  got  him  out  on 
the  rock  again  that  night,  and  I  turned 
our  talk  again  to  suicide.  I  said  it  was 
small,  mean,  cowardly,  criminal,  con 
temptible!  I  was  savagely  in  earnest, 
and  Grayson  shivered  and  said  not  a 
word.  I  thought  he  was  in  better  mind 
1 06 


A  PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

after  that.  We  got  to  taking  night 
rides  again,  and  I  stayed  as  closely  to 
him  as  I  could,  for  times  got  worse  and 
trouble  was  upon  everybody.  Notes  fell 
thicker  than  snowflakes,  and,  through 
the  foolish  policy  of  the  company,  fore 
closures  had  to  be  made.  Grayson  went 
to  the  wall  like  the  rest  of  us.  I  asked 
him  what  he  had  done  with  the  money 
he  had  made.  He  had  given  away  a 
great  deal  to  poorer  kindred ;  he  had 
paid  his  dead  father's  debts;  he  had 
played  away  a  good  deal,  and  he  had 
lost  the  rest.  His  faith  was  still  imper 
turbable.  He  had  a  dozen  rectangles  of 
"  dirt,"  and  from  these,  he  said,  it  would 
all  come  back  some  day.  Still,  he  felt 
the  sudden  poverty  keenly,  but  he  faced 
it  as  he  did  any  other  physical  fact  in 
life — dauntless.  He  used  to  be  fond  of 
107 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

saying  that  no  one  thing  could  make 
him  miserable.  But  he  would  talk  with 
mocking  earnestness  about  some  much- 
dreaded  combination ;  and  a  favorite 
phrase  of  his — which  got  to  have  peculiar 
significance — was  "the  cohorts  of  hell," 
who  closed  in  on  him  when  he  was  sick 
and  weak,  and  who  fell  back  when  he 
got  well.  He  had  one  strange  habit, 
too,  from  which  I  got  comfort.  He 
would  deliberately  walk  into  and  defy 
any  temptation  that  beset  him.  That 
was  the  way  he  strengthened  himself, 
he  said.  I  knew  what  his  temptation 
was  now,  and  I  thought  of  this  habit 
when  I  found  him  asleep  with  his  re 
volver,  and  I  got  hope  from  it  now, 
when  the  dreaded  combination  (whatever 
that  was)  seemed  actually  to  have  come. 
I  could  see  now  that  he  got  worse 

108 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

daily.  He  stopped  his  mockeries,  his 
occasional  fits  of  reckless  gayety.  He 
stopped  poker — resolutely — he  couldn't 
afford  to  lose  now;  and,  what  puzzled  me, 
he  stopped  drinking.  The  man  simply 
looked  tired,  always  hopelessly  tired; 
and  I  could  believe  him  sincere  in  all 
his  foolish  talk  about  his  blessed  Nir 
vana:  which  was  the  peace  he  craved, 
which  was  end  enough  for  him. 

Winter  broke.  May  drew  near ;  and 
one  afternoon,  when  Grayson  and  I  took 
our  walk  up  through  the  Gap,  he  carried 
along  a  huge  spy-glass  of  mine,  which 
had  belonged  to  a  famous  old  desperado, 
who  watched  his  enemies  with  it  from  the 
mountain-tops.  We  both  helped  capture 
him,  and  I  defended  him.  He  was  sen 
tenced  to  hang — the  glass  was  my  fee. 
We  sat  down  opposite  Bee  Rock,  and 
109 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

for  the  first  time  Grayson  told  me  of 
that  last  scene  with  her.  He  spoke 
without  bitterness,  and  he  told  me  what 
she  said,  word  for  word,  without  a  breath 
of  blame  for  her.  I  do  not  believe  that 
he  judged  her  at  all ;  she  did  not  know — 
he  always  said;  she  did  not  know ;  and 
then,  when  I  opened  my  lips,  Grayson 
reached  silently  for  my  wrist,  and  I  can 
feel  again  the  warning  crush  of  his  fin 
gers,  and  I  say  nothing  against  her  now. 

I  asked  Grayson  what  his  answer  was. 

"  I  asked  her,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  if 
she  had  ever  seen  a  purple  rhododen 
dron." 

I  almost  laughed,  picturing  the  scene 
— the  girl  bewildered  by  his  absurd  ques 
tion — Grayson  calm,  superbly  courteous. 
It  was  a  mental  peculiarity  of  his — this 
irrelevancy — and  it  was  like  him  to  end 
no 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

a  matter  of  life  and  death  in  just  that 
way. 

"  I  told  her  I  should  send  her  one. 
I  am  waiting  for  them  to  come  out,"  he 
added ;  and  he  lay  back  with  his  head 
against  a  stone  and  sighted  the  telescope 
on  a  dizzy  point,  about  which  buzzards 
were  circling. 

"  There  is  just  one  bush  of  rhododen 
dron  up  there,"  he  went  on.  "  I  saw  it 
looking  down  from  the  Point  last  spring. 
I  imagine  it  must  blossom  earlier  than 
that  across  there  on  Bee  Rock,  being 
always  in  the  sun.  No,  it's  not  budding 
yet,"  he  added,  with  his  eye  to  the  glass. 
"  You  see  that  ledge  just  to  the  left  ?  I 
dropped  a  big  rock  from  the  Point  square 
on  a  rattler  who  was  sunning  himself 
there  last  spring.  I  can  see  a  foothold 
all  the  way  up  the  cliff.  It  can  be  done," 


A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 

he  concluded,  in  a  tone  that  made  me 
turn  sharply  upon  him. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  climb  up 
there  ?"  I  asked,  harshly. 

"  If  it  blossoms  first  up  there — I'll  get 
it  where  it  blooms  first."  In  a  moment 
I  was  angry  and  half  sick  with  suspi 
cion,  for  I  knew  his  obstinacy ;  and 
then  began  what  I  am  half  ashamed  to 
tell. 

Every  day  thereafter  Grayson  took 
that  glass  with  him,  and  I  went  along 
to  humor  him.  I  watched  Bee  Rock, 
and  he  that  one  bush  at  the  throat  of 
the  peak — neither  of  us  talking  over  the 
matter  again.  It  was  uncanny,  that 
rivalry — sun  and  wind  in  one  spot,  sun 
and  wind  in  another  —  Nature  herself 
casting  the  fate  of  a  half-crazed  fool 
with  a  flower.  It  was  utterly  absurd, 

112 


A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 

but  I  got  nervous  over  it  —  apprehen 
sive,  dismal. 

A  week  later  it  rained  for  two  days, 
and  the  water  was  high.  The  next 
day  the  sun  shone,  and  that  afternoon 
Grayson  smiled,  looking  through  the 
glass,  and  handed  it  to  me.  I  knew 
what  I  should  see.  One  purple  cluster, 
full  blown,  was  shaking  in  the  wind. 
Grayson  was  leaning  back  in  a  dream 
when  I  let  the  glass  down.  A  cool 
breath  from  the  woods  behind  us 
brought  the  odor  of  roots  and  of  black 
earth;  up  in  the  leaves  and  sunlight 
somewhere  a  wood -thrush  was  sing 
ing,  and  I  saw  in  Grayson's  face  what 
I  had  not  seen  for  a  long  time,  and 
that  was  peace  —  the  peace  of  stub 
born  purpose.  He  did  not  come 
for  me  the  next  day,  nor  the  next ; 
H  113 


A  PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

but    the    next    he    did,    earlier    than 
usual. 

"  I  am  going  to  get  that  rhododen 
dron,"  he  said.  "  I  have  been  half-way 
up — it  can  be  reached."  So  had  I  been 
half-way  up.  With  nerve  and  agility 
the  flower  could  be  got,  and  both  these 
Grayson  had.  If  he  had  wanted  to 
climb  up  there  and  drop,  he  could  have 
done  it  alone,  and  he  would  have  known 
that  I  should  have  found  him.  Gray- 
son  was  testing  himself  again,  and,  angry 
with  him  for  the  absurdity  of  the  thing 
and  with  myself  for  humoring  it,  but 
still  not  sure  of  him,  I  picked  up  my  hat 
and  went.  I  swore  to  myself  silently 
that  it  was  the  last  time  I  should  pay 
any  heed  to  his  whims.  I  believed  this 
would  be  the  last.  The  affair  with  the 
girl  was  over.  The  flower  sent,  I  knew 
114 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

Grayson  would  never  mention  her  name 
again. 

Nature  was  radiant  that  afternoon. 
The  mountains  had  the  leafy  luxuri 
ance  of  June,  and  a  rich,  sunlit  haze 
drowsed  on  them  between  the  shadows 
starting  out  over  the  valley  and  the 
clouds  so  white  that  the  blue  of  the  sky 
looked  dark.  Two  eagles  shot  across 
the  mouth  of  the  Gap  as  we  neared  it, 
and  high  beyond  buzzards  were  sailing 
over  Grayson's  rhododendron. 

I  went  up  the  ravine  with  him  and 
I  climbed  up  behind  him  —  Grayson 
going  very  deliberately  and  whistling 
softly.  He  called  down  to  me  when  he 
reached  the  shelf  that  looked  half-way. 

"  You  mustn't  come  any  farther  than 
this,"  he  said.     "  Get  out  on  that  rock 
and  I'll  drop  them  down  to  you." 
"5 


A  PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

Then  he  jumped  from  the  ledge  and 
caught  the  body  of  a  small  tree  close 
to  the  roots,  and  my  heart  sank  at  such 
recklessness  and  all  my  fears  rose  again. 
I  scrambled  hastily  to  the  ledge,  but  I 
could  get  no  farther.  I  might  possibly 
make  the  jump  he  had  made — but  how 
should  I  ever  get  back?  How  would 
he?  I  called  angrily  after  him  now, 
and  he  wouldn't  answer  me.  I  called 
him  a  fool,  a  coward  ;  I  stamped  the 
ledge  like  a  child — but  Grayson  kept 
on,  foot  after  hand,  with  stealthy  cau 
tion,  and  the  purple  cluster  nodding 
down  at  him  made  my  head  whirl.  I 
had  to  lie  down  to  keep  from  tumbling 
from  the  ledge ;  and  there  on  my  side, 
gripping  a  pine  bush,  I  lay  looking  up 
at  him.  He  was  close  to  the  flowers 
now,  and  just  before  he  took  the  last 

116 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

upward  step  he  turned  and  looked 
down  that  awful  height  with  as  calm  a 
face  as  though  he  could  have  dropped 
and  floated  unhurt  to  the  ravine  be 
neath. 

Then  with  his  left  hand  he  caught 
the  ledge  to  the  left,  strained  up,  and, 
holding  thus,  reached  out  with  his  right. 
The  hand  closed  about  the  cluster,  and 
the  twig  was  broken.  Grayson  gave  a 
great  shout  then.  He  turned  his  head 
as  though  to  drop  them,  and,  that  far 
away,  I  heard  the  sibilant  whir  of  rat 
tles.  I  saw  a  snake's  crest  within  a 
yard  of  his  face,  and,  my  God !  I  saw 
Grayson  loose  his  left  hand  to  guard  it ! 
The  snake  struck  at  his  arm,  and  Gray- 
son  reeled  and  caught  back  once  at  the 
ledge  with  his  left  hand.  He  caught 
once,  I  say,  to  do  him  full  justice ;  then, 
"7 


A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 

without  a  word,  he  dropped  —  and  I 
swear  there  was  a  smile  on  his  face 
when  he  shot  down  past  me  into  the 
trees. 

I  found  him  down  there  in  the  ra 
vine  with  nearly  every  bone  in  his  body 
crushed.  His  left  arm  was  under  him, 
and  outstretched  in  his  right  hand  was 
the  shattered  cluster,  with  every  blos 
som  gone  but  one.  One  white  half  of 
his  face  was  unmarked,  and  on  it  was 
still  the  shadow  of  a  smile.  I  think  it 
meant  more  than  that  Grayson  believed 
that  he  was  near  peace  at  last.  It 
meant  that  Fate  had  done  the  deed  for 
him  and  that  he  was  glad.  Whether  he 
would  have  done  it  himself,  I  do  not 
know;  and  that  is  why  I  say  that 
though  Grayson  brought  the  flower 

118 


A   PURPLE   RHODODENDRON 

down — smiling  from  peak  to  ravine — 
I  do  not  know  that  he  was  not,  after 
all,  a  coward. 

That  night  I  wrote  to  the  woman  in 
Kentucky.  I  told  her  that  Grayson 
had  fallen  from  a  cliff  while  climbing 
for  flowers ;  and  that  he  was  dead. 
Along  with  these  words,  I  sent  a  purple 
rhododendron. 


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